The Abyss
by AutumnMobile12
Summary: There was little else she could give him other than life in this filthy, wretched world. And he could forgive her for that.


"Have you ever thought about having a baby, Brother?"

Levi raised his black eyes from cleaning his knife for only a second. "You're too young." Actually, he wasn't entirely sure how old Isabel was. If he were to guess, she was mostly likely older than fifteen but definitely younger than twenty. No, make that between sixteen and eighteen, which seemed to be the acceptable age when the wealthy families above married off their daughters. So he supposed Isabel was old enough to have children, but he stayed quiet. "And a squalling, helpless infant is the last thing we need."

"You didn't answer my question." The girl grinned at him, sprawled lazily across their sofa. "I was asking about you."

"Why do you want to know?" It was moments like this when he wondered where Farlan had run off to and why he'd left Isabel behind to plague him. Seriously, this girl and her endless questions….they required a level of patience he hadn't even known he possessed, surpassing even his tolerance for that bird of hers pooping everywhere. Levi felt his left eye twitch at the thought and glared. Pfeil was sitting smugly in his favorite spot, right on top of her head.

Isabel stretched her arms out and wriggled her feet in the air. "I dunno. I'm curious. Compared to most people, you seem pretty okay with kids."

As long as they didn't come near him and stick their hands in his pockets. "That means nothing." He answered, holding up the knife to the light and examining it, then resumed his task. "Why would I willingly bring a child into this world?"

The girl raised her head, startling the little bird. "Your mother did."

Levi's thumb slipped and ran along the edge of the knife, leaving a thin, red line in its wake. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to bleed. Grimacing, he raised the wounded digit to his mouth and ran his tongue over the cut. "What does that matter?"

"Do you hate her?" When he refused to answer, Isabel sat up, eyes wide in alarm. "You shouldn't! She was your mother!"

"I never said I did."

"But you were about to! I can tell!"

"Quit shouting."

Isabel fell quiet, drawing her knees into her chest and repeating stubbornly, "You shouldn't hate your mother."

"That's my decision, not yours."

"Why?" The girl asked, talking into her knees so he barely understood her. Pfeil chirruped and slid expertly down one of her pigtails to rest on her shoulder. Absently, she reached up to gently pat his head, rub her forefinger under his beak, and stroke his back and tail feathers, carefully avoiding his injured wings. While she was occupied, Levi stole the opportunity to back away from her question. He sheathed his knife, concealing it in the usual place on his person, and walked toward the room he shared with Farlan. Behind him, he felt Isabel's green eyes watching him go. Pfeil cheeped as he twisted the old, tarnished doorknob and stepped inside, closing the door behind him and plunging the room into darkness.

There were no windows in this part of the house, not that they would've helped anyway. The world above never cast its light on this part of the city. He used to have this room to himself, but Farlan had annexed half of it after giving up his quarters next door to their new roommate. Levi scowled, leaning his back against the wall and sliding to the floor.

He'd spent his entire life only vaguely aware the woman that gave birth to him had ever existed.

The earliest memory he could dredge up from the beginning of his childhood was of him crying hysterically, crouched beside a table leg covered in bite marks. There was an old woman there, too, brushing her wrinkled hand over his black hair. Whatever he was sobbing about he didn't remember, though he imagined it was probably something stupid. The sands of time had long since buried the crone's words, but he remembered her patient smile as she pulled him into her lap and rocked him back and forth, humming a scratchy melody.

The Grandmother was a wise woman and a healer, something the surface folk might've called a witch, but in the Underground, she was a saint who cared for sick, offered advice and comfort to the suffering, and took in the orphaned and unwanted. _It was I your mother came to when she was in the throes, Levi._ She'd whispered to him once. _Poor thing. In so much pain she ruined 'er throat wit' 'er wailing. But she loved you, little wolf. As soon as she pushed you into the world and I told 'er you were a boy, she asked to see you. When she 'eld you for the first time, she kissed both your little cheeks and you stopped your howling immediately. An' she smiled an' laughed._

Maybe the old woman's memory was foggy, or she was half-senile. Or she was telling a well-practiced version of the same lie she told all her charges in place of some painful truth. Levi didn't know, but sometimes it was better to think he'd been abandoned in some forgotten alley, tossed aside like a useless, unwelcome rag for the rats to chew on. After all, the alternative was knowing his first accomplishment in life was taking his mother's. Then the idea of her holding him in her arms, even as she sickened and died, brought some inkling of warmth to his cold heart. Somewhere in his mind, he could almost see her face, tear-streaked yet somehow smiling, and hear her voice, weeping apologies.

Sometimes, though, it was just easier to hate her than to consider she might have loved him. That she might have taken care of him as a mother should had she survived bringing him into the world. The Grandmother had once told him those who'd already passed on looked after their loved ones and that a mother's love was forever. It was a mother's duty to watch over her sons and daughters, she said with a cackle. Surely someone as headstrong and spirited as Kuchel would not let a silly thing like death keep her from that.

Kuchel.

It had been over thirty years since her life ended and his began, and they hadn't been easy. Starving, blood, murder, theft, illness, filth, that wretched plague that nearly decimated the human race, going about his way in constant darkness, nearly being killed by soldiers and other rogues, waking up one morning and realizing the Grandmother hadn't and never would again, fending for himself, and getting mixed up with a ruthless sociopath.

His lamented mother watching over him? Levi had his doubts.

A knock on the door startled him.

He didn't answer.

"Levi, open the door." Farlan's rational and somewhat impatient voice reached him.

"It's unlocked, dumbass."

The door opened a crack, casting a sliver of light across the floor. "I don't know what happened, but Isabel's pretty unsettled. She's hiding in her room now, and she won't talk to me. Did you say something to her?"

Shit, he hadn't meant to upset her. Levi crushed a hand into his eye and sighed. "Dammit. She just asked a few questions I didn't feel like answering."

"Okay, that rules out what type of soap you prefer for scouring the floor." The sliver of light widened and Farlan stepped inside. "I doubt she meant any harm. You didn't say anything too harsh, right?"

_I barely said a word. _Then Farlan was gone, leaving the door ajar. A minute later, he heard Isabel's voice, a mix of hurt and frustration, though he couldn't make out her words. _I'm sorry, Isabel. I know you were only curious, but the topic of my mother is a sensitive one._ Farlan spoke up, understanding. Isabel responded, this time indignant, maybe a little angry. _You're right, though. I shouldn't hate her, especially when I never knew her, but I have my reasons._ Farlan, sympathetic. Isabel, back to hurt. Silence. _Please don't think too hard about it._ Farlan asked a question. Isabel laughed. An unexpected sense of relief untangled the knot in his stomach, and Levi stood, walking toward his bedside. He lit a candle and knelt, reaching into the shadows until his groping hand closed around a small, wooden box. Sitting on his bed, he undid the rusting clasp and opened the lid. The contents were sparse, a few odds and ends he'd found and thoroughly cleaned before storing: spare buttons, a shard of stained glass he liked holding up to the light, a patch of soft fabric, some money he saved for emergencies, even a whetstone a female MP had once given him, winking and smiling as she did so.

But the particularly item he sought lay coiled around the others, like a protective nest. He pinched one end between two fingers and drew it out, a long, silken lock of hair as black as coal dust. The end was singed somewhat, a sharp reminder of time he'd taken a match to the hair in order to rid himself of it, then stamped it out in a rare moment of panic, but the rest of it was as smooth and soft as it had been the day the old Grandmother had passed it into his hands. _I took that from 'er pretty head at 'er request, so you'd 'ave some token of her memory. S'not much, I know, and she wept bitterly, but it is something._

He clenched his hand around the only memory of a woman he'd never known and bowed his head. In the end, there was nothing she could give him other than a life in this filthy, wretched world. He could forgive her for that.

And maybe he could believe in her ghost and return the love she'd given from the moment she learned of the life in her womb until the day she died.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: I really have no idea where this came from. It actually started out as humorous with Isabel's initial question, but then it somehow took a dark turn when she brought up Levi's mother. Nonetheless, I hope everyone who read it enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought if you want. :)

Shingeki no Kyojin: No Regrets is owned by Hajime Isayama, Gun Snark, and Hikaru Suruga.


End file.
